


Lampyridae

by darkhavens



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e03 Secondo, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 15:13:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10027532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkhavens/pseuds/darkhavens
Summary: Hannibal's curiosity drags him back to Lithuania.





	

But for a chance remark from Chiyoh, during a heated discussion over who should be treated first after their fall from the bluff, Hannibal would never have learned of the gift Will had left for him. She'd refused to elucidate; had remained tight-lipped after that first undetailed comment; functionally mute for days in regards to anything beyond their immediate needs and required wound care. Hannibal had pressed with delicate subtlety, but ultimately retreated with grace after three days of stubborn silence and blank expression

By the time Will was able to retain consciousness for more than a few consecutive minutes, Chiyoh had removed herself from the scene, though Hannibal knew she was out there somewhere nearby, watching them, watching over him. In the following days and weeks of recovery, in quiet conversation, and the occasional passionate disagreement, Hannibal tried to tease an admission, a confession, some form of acknowledgement from Will, but to no avail.

Which was why the dust of Lithuania clung once again to his polished boots, as Hannibal simultaneously cursed and marveled at Will's ability to turn Hannibal's personal convictions on their heads, pull them inside out, disassemble them, and from the pieces forge impossible new convictions that Hannibal willingly embraced.

The last rays of sunlight painted the grounds of the Lecter Estate with grotesquely elongated shadows that danced and tangled in the wind as Hannibal's own forged on ahead of him. Insects ticked and clicked and slithered in their hundreds of thousands. Branches creaked and sighed in the breeze; sloughed off bark beneath the claws of birds; jounced and snapped back under the scampering of curious red squirrels.

Scents, of petrichor, leaf mulch, deer scat, and so much more, triggered a firecracker cascade of memories that might have pulled him under and drowned him in their murky depths, had he not caught the slightest hint of slowly decomposing flesh on nature's breath. It couldn't possibly be the prize he was here to find, some unfortunate forest creature no doubt, but the familiar odour grounded him, set him back on his path.

The stairs were worn, dust gathered in every joint and groove, but they were sturdy, still, underfoot. The tin sat, as ever, in its cramped recess; candle and matches safe and dry inside to light his way. The explosion of scattered light when he reached the last step and turned was the cacophony of discordant notes merging into a riotous opening chorus; it was the first mouthful of an exotic dish with its untested melange of herbs and spices.

It was exploration, experimentation, exultation.

It was art, glorious and profane.

It was his Will: his temptation, his trial, his treasure, reflected back in this - wholly unconscious, Hannibal was sure - self-portrait.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt [Hannibal, any, he never expected to find himself here [Free-For-All challenge]](http://fic-promptly.dreamwidth.org/443948.html?thread=13944876#cmt13944876) by [caveat_lector](http://caveat-lector.dreamwidth.org/) over at [dreamwidth](http://www.dreamwidth.org/)'s [fic_promptly](http://fic-promptly.dreamwidth.org/) community.


End file.
